Impressive
by angelwolf123
Summary: The story of a wanna-be heroine and her less-than-heroic dragon boy. Adventurer X Dragon
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **_This story is a bit of an AU, in which everything takes place in a simultaneously modern and high fantasy setting. But don't worry, all of the dynamics are pretty much the same. It's also a bit of a songfic, however, for "True Love Restraint" by Kagamine Lin. If you don't want to be spoiled, don't seek out the song. The story is told in the 2nd person, to reflect the nature of being the "adventurer" in the game. But there is a main character, so it's not "interactive" or "based on you". Also, I disclaim DragonFable. It's not mine, it belongs to Artix Entertainment. (If it was, there'd be less monster fighting and more monster dating, haha.)_

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**-Impressive- Chapter 1**

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_It is a cruel thing to do, to cage such a beautiful and passionate animal as if it was only a dumb beast. But humans do so all to often, they even cage themselves, though their bars are made of society, not of steel._

_-Amelia Atwater-Rhodes_

**...**

Face it, you suck at heroing. You refused to accept your place at the bottom of the social food chain, and now look where you are. Beaten down, bruises throbbing, and unable to stand under the weight of your shame.

You suppose it's not all _that_ bad. Even though you got into a huge fight with your mom before running off, she'll probably let you come back provided you swear to never question your position again. As you peel yourself from the forest floor, you direct a particularly nasty look towards your wooden staff. What a shitty weapon. It's designed for what, level one heroes?

Unfortunately for you, you can't even get to level one. You don't have the money to pay for the experience points, so when you attempted to earn some yourself, well, _this_ is what happens.

I can't go to college because I don't have money. I don't have money because I can't get a job. I can't get a job because I can't go to college.

Ah, the vicious cycle, the main reason why only the privileged get to become heroes. When you heard that commercial on TV, it's likeness to your situation was kind of creepy. Except, you know, you don't want to go to college. More than anything, you want to be a hero. A valiant protector, slayer of demons, and _totally loaded_. That last bit is, of course, the most important.

The staff, though useless in your inexperienced hands, makes for an excellent walking stick as you limp down the beaten path back to Oaklore Keep. But wait. Something, a gleam on the side of the track, catches your eye. Hope flares up within you, albeit against your will.

You've heard of stories of people who've found amazing things just abandoned on the side of the road. With all of the heroes and monsters running around and fighting and dropping things, it's not too surprising that some stuff would be left behind in all of the excitement.

Limping over, you dig your hands into the brush. They make contact with something hard, and with effort, you manage to extract... a box? Jeez, this thing is heavy. It's actually less of a box and more of a trunk.

You're pretty bummed that it's not a bag of cash or something equally rewarding, but the box's somewhat fancy exterior design keeps your spirits lifted. You run your hands over its smooth black surface, tracing the outlines of the golden dragon embossed on the clasp. You hold your breath and cross your fingers. The lid swings open with ease.

A gust of stale blows your blonde hair back a little as your jaw practically hits the forest floor. You can't believe your eyes. What who the hell locks a kid in a trunk and just leaves it for someone to find in a monster-ridden forest?

You think you might throw up. He's just a little guy, maybe two or three years old. His curled up body is a perfect fit for the interior of the trunk. Your bruised hands tremble as you haul him out of the box and into your aching lap. His neck is cold and clammy as you feel for his pulse. Is he even alive?

The feel his vein pulsating against your fingers is the best thing since sliced bread.

You finally exhale, and position the squirt so that he's facing you. God, he's so pale. Paler than any healthy person should be. You push the slightly curling bangs away from his forehead. At least his temperature seems okay, though chiller than you would like. But you tug on a strand of his inky black hair, perplexed. Normally people have all sorts of different colors blended into their hair, but this boy's is undoubtedly a solid obsidian. It occurs to you that you have probably just rescued a member of a different, entirely non-human species.

Which, of course, is a problem. "Monsters" of any sort are strictly forbidden to step foot in Oaklore Keep. But what are you supposed to do? Ditch him at the side of the road like the guys before you? It's true that you're only just scraping by financially, but as a waitress in the Mess Hall it should be pretty easy to pick up some extra food for the little guy.

He's so frail and thin in your arms. You can hide him for a while, sure, but in the long run you'll probably have to hand him off to one of his own kind (which you'll investigate later) or someone who can take care of him better than you can. You set him back into the box, arranging him just the way you found him.

After that, it's pretty easy to just load the crate into your inventory. You weren't sure if it could even accept anything alive, but since it shows up as an option on the interface screen you guess it's okay.

Despite the fact you're on a heroic rescue mission, your body continues to be battered and pathetic. You seriously think you might only have one point of health left at this point. When you finally drag your sorry ass through Oaklore's sizable gates, nobody bothers to give you a second look. Knights are rushing all over the place, and the Keep sort of resembles an overturned ants nest.

The air is alive with activity, but it just makes you hobble faster, dodging horses and people alike. Jeez. You'd think they were preparing for a siege or something.

Captain Rolith stands tall in the midst of all of the chaos and kicked up dust. He's handsome in a sort of knightly, rugged way but you're 80% sure he's just a prick. The guy won't even talk to anyone under level 3. You can't help but give him a dirty look as you scurry past his tanned form.

The west side of the Keep is pretty desolate in comparison to the hub of the main yard. Over here there's actually some grass off to the sidelines that hasn't been ground into dirt yet. You make a point to avoid Sir Vey and Sir Casm, who are the only other people around. The two idiots are working on their dumb catapult like they always do, but whenever you walk too close to them they always try to rope you into "trying it out". Yeah, like you want to be launched several hundred feet into the air.

Luckily they seem to be busy with a malfunctioning rope, so you sneak past them easily. You fling open the heavy oaken door to the infirmary.

"Junn!" you sob, staggering past the rows of white hospital beds. The red headed knight jerks up in alarm. His brown eyes widen in understanding, and he rushes your way, nearly tripping on his tan robes in the process. Two large, armored hands settle over your shoulders and guide you to the nearest mattress.

"Sir Junn..." you repeat, sinking into the white bedding. "I got beat up again."

The knight checks your temperature, tongue clicking in dismay. "It was the Sneevils again, huh? I can tell from all of the bruising on your legs. Short little buggers."

You nod, gratefully accepting the health and mana potions Junn shoves into your face.

A resounding bang from the front of the infirmary makes both of you jump. A knight is panting, clutching the doorframe with both hands. "Junn!" he gasps. "The Priestess has a-arrived, but she's hurt! Captain Rolith wants you to come to the small lounge immediately."

The red head's look of amusement vanishes immediately. He follows the knight out, calling over his shoulder. "Lita. I probably won't be back for a while, but you're welcome to stay here and rest."

And just like that, you're alone. Heaving a sigh of relief, you pull out your satchel and scroll through the inventory. But when you hit the bottom of the list (an easy task; it's not like you actually own anything), your heart freezes over.

"The box is gone!"

But you have the box; it was the last thing in your inventory like you expected. The thing is, the voice came from somewhere outside. You're not the one who said that.

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**AN:** _I'm writing this story for the NaNoWriMo writing challenge. So make sure you click that Follow button, because the updates are going to come fast and thick. It'd also help if I could get some reviews, lol. ;)_

_Oh, and PS, the chapters are pretty short. I'd keep up with the story at least till chapter 12, if I were you. *eyebrow waggle*_


	2. Chapter 2

Oh. Well, shit. Heart pounding, you unceremoniously stuff the handheld device into your satchel and kick it under your bed. Good thing too, for the infirmary door is blown open for the second time today not ten seconds later.

Ugh. It's Sir Prize. His helmet swivels from side to side as he surveys that room, eventually settling his mischievous gaze on you.

"Lita, have you seen a box anywhere? You're in the forest half the time, so maybe you saw something...?"

Since when were your fingernails this interesting? You pause from your inspection, but only for a moment. "Well, _box_ is pretty generic. What's it look like?"

Sir Prize shakes his head, armor squealing. "Haven't seen a picture of it or anything, but it's supposed to be black... with a gold dragon embossed on the front."

Great. You internally wince. "I... _might_ have seen something like that."

**...**

The knights are glaring at you. You don't know_ why_. You only found the damn box, after all. It's not like you were hiding it. If you had the intention of stealing it, you never would've reported to Prize. Idiots.

The Small Lounge is... not as small as you anticipated. Reserved for high-level visitors, a lowly commoner like you has never stepped foot on its plush carpet. You shift, uncomfortable. Sure, the armchair you're seated in is soft, but maybe a bit too soft. You might start sinking in any minute now.

You can't believe all the fuss over a stupid box. Even the freaking Priestess is involved? Jeez. Might as well throw King Alteon into the mix while they're at it.

But then the door opens, and a hush falls over the knights gathered. The Priestess, adorned in white, is escorted in by Captain Rolith. After showing the lady to her seat, the Captain bows, and joins his men against the walls.

Her hair, as white as her robes, tumbles over her shoulders. Her lips are turned upward, but you don't think it counts as a smile. She looks... nervous?

"They tell me your name is Lita?"

You swallow, and give a small nod. Her dark blue eyes bore into you, and you can't seem to meet her gaze.

"So, you found the Black Dragon Box in the forest? What were you doing there?" she inquires, her voice a bit too careful.

Why are you so shy? "I was fighting Sneevils, you know, those short imp creatures..." You manage.

The Priestess nods. "May I see it?"

It doesn't seem like she's really listening to you, but you give your consent, and remove the box from its place in your inventory. Flames from the nearby fireplace dance along its inky case as you set it by your feet.

The whole room exhales. The Priestess stands up, and addresses the surrounding knights.

"Nothing to see here, boys. If you'll excuse us, Lita and I have to do some... girl talk."

While you're grateful to be rid of the stares, this prospect of "girl talk" makes you more than a little uncomfortable, considering the Priestess is about twenty years your senior.

Once the Lounge clears, the Priestess lets out a small cough. She bends down, opens the box, and extracts the little boy. Back in her seat, his unconscious form drapes over her lap, and she strokes his fluffy black hair as if he was some sort of cat. "I presume you've already met Samael?"

_Samael?_ Mildly creeped out, you decide it's a good time to get your own questions answered. "Hey, uh, Priestess? Why... why is he being kept in a box...?"

She snickers. "Well, I suppose it would be a little strange to you."

No duh, lady. It takes a conscious effort to not roll your eyes. "Err, yeah." Your gaze flickers back to the box, where the embossed dragon still keeps watch.

The Priestess takes notice, smirking (to your irritation). "It's perfectly normal for baby dragons to incubate in protected locations before hatching. But now that you've broken the seal, he should wake up any time now."

So you were right about the twerp not being human, but you try not to look too confused. He's a dragon? You've heard of feral dragons eventually achieving human form after hundreds of years, and domesticated dragons with the luxury of being born that way, but... "Where are his.. horns? And.. wings...?"

Of course she laughs again. "They're right here, you didn't notice?" The Priestess grins, and carries... Samael... your way. Once the dragon boy is set on top of you, he's everywhere. Legs spilling over the side, arms not going the way you want them... he's so fragile. Almost birdlike.

Upon inspection you learn that he does indeed have the traits of a domesticated dragon. All you have to do is run your hand through his hair to feel the makings of horns; rounded, nubby lumps of bone. You aren't really willing to feel him up though, so you leave it at that.

But, as cute as he is, there are things to discuss. You prop Samael so he's sitting upright on your lap, and send a look the Priestess' way.

"So what's the deal with the kid? Why is he so important?"

The lady smiles. "Isn't that the question? To put it simply, Samael is a part of an ancient prophecy. It claims that there will come a time when two dragons will come into conflict, one meant to destroy the world, and the other meant to save it."

Is she serious? You glance at the boy in your lap. "So... where's the other dragon...?"

The Priestess's face darkens. "I'm sure you've heard of a man named Sepulcher?"

You freeze in your seat. Oh yes, yes you have heard of Sepulcher. After all, who hasn't? The DoomKnight actually attacked your hometown, Falconreach, several times.

The woman across from you takes a sip of tea, and nods. "We lost the White Dragon Box to him a few weeks ago. This is probably what he has been aiming for the entire time. All of the advances on Lore- these were probably just raids to find it."

Your eyes narrow. "And... what does this all have to do with me...?"

The clink of the teacup meeting saucer is the only sound in the room. The Priestess looks up, dark blue gaze meeting your hazel one. And then she smiles.

"Well, I was wondering if you could keep Samael for me?"


	3. Chapter 3

You consider for only a second before replying. Sure, it's been established that Samael is adorable, but... "No."

"Really? Even after you've been informed of his importance in the grand scheme of things?" The Priestess' eyebrows near her hairline.

You sigh, and try to keep the stirring hatchling from flopping over the edge of your armchair. You shouldn't be surprised, but his grumbles are low, and strangely guttural. More animalistic than anything. "That's the point. I... don't have the resources to take care of a little kid. And it's not exactly like I'm the most qualified person out there. What about you? Aren't dragons your _thing_, my lady?"

The 'lady' scoffs, chuckling lightly as she begins to prep her second cup of tea, a light tinkling of glass against silverware. "You are well informed, hero. But you should know that I rarely train the fledglings myself. Rather, I find it far more effective to train the DragonLord in my stead. And...-"

Are her eyes _twinkling_? "-...I think it would be wise to inform you that fledglings grow rather quickly." she finishes.

Yup. It's not just you. Her eyes are definitely twinkling. "What are you trying to say here, Priestess?"

The boy in your lap twitches, his clawed hands pawing at your dirt-smeared t-shirt. While most modern technology are rendered useless within the proximity of monsters, luckily machine-manufactured items and clothing hold up just as well as ever.

Steam rises from the lacquered china cup, and the scent of jasmine blooms in the air. The Priestess waves her hand in your general direction. "Oh, stop with all of this lady business, at least while we're talking informally. My name is Celestia._ Lady Celestia_, if you really need the addition of titles."

A fitting name for a woman who is almost divine in appearance. But if this is her version of informal, then you really don't want to be in her proximity at any other time. Raised in poverty on the streets of ever-growing Falconreach, this is pretty much as formal as you get.

"Er.. okay. But I'm serious. I'm only sixteen, and I'm sort of just trying to scrape up a living for myself. When I found Samael I was only intending to keep him until I had the opportunity to pass him off to someone more suitable. You're the best dragon trainer in Lore. Perfect opportunity." You splay your hands her way, taking care not to disturb the dragon settled atop you.

Celestia laughs, blowing on her beverage. "I see. But as unwilling as you are, I must ask you to reconsider. There is more at work here than you can possibly imagine. It was not coincidence that I was attacked on my way to Oaklore, forcing Twilly and I to hide the Black Dragon Box. Nor was it by chance that you found the same box seemingly at random. Whether by the hand of fate, or the influence of some other greater power, _you_ have been chosen to shoulder this mantle; not I, though I do have my part to play."

Uh... what? Questions flood your mind, rendering you helpless underneath their weight. "Who's 'Twilly'?" You, being the genius, seem to only be capable of asking the least relevant question available.

Those blue eyes grow distant. "Twilly is the moglin who had volunteered to escort me through the forest." Celestia begins. "We were both injured with the sudden appearance of a gorrillaphant. He's fine now, however, and it would please me to stay on topic. I shall put it simply; you can't rise through the ranks of heroism due to lack of funds, correct?"

The reminder of your unfortunate place in life is like a fist to the gut. "How did you-?"

Celestia holds up a slim palm, and you wisely shut your mouth. "Though you are declining guardianship over Samael, I must ask a favor of you nevertheless. You will take responsibility for finding him. You say you want to pass the child off to better hands? So be it. Dragonsgrasp is the stronghold of the Dragonlord order. If you truly wish to be free of him, you will need to head North, and ascend the holy city there. Since only those who have bonded with a dragon may enter, I will give Sir Baumbard instructions to guide you. If you do this for me, I will pay the needed sum to advance you to level one."

Shock rings through your body. You're torn between rage and repentance. Some _favor_. True, you did find the box, and true, you really _really_ need the money right now, but North? That's a little vague. And Sir Baumbard? The Dragonlord retiree? You've seen him with his dragon outside of Oaklore's gates, but you've only spoken to him in passing. Any trip with that old guy is sure to be awkward.

You take in a deep breath. Well, maybe you could just think of this as a sort of... stepping stone to heroism. With cars being pretty much a no-go anywhere that isn't heavily populated, a journey to the North could take weeks, even months to complete. But how long is that in the grand scheme of things? All you have to do is this one thing and your career is pretty much good to go. No more late nights spent serving tables, and no crawling back to Mom.

"All right then. I'll do it, assuming all expenses are paid."

Celestia nods. "Yes, yes; of course. Now, about the method of transportation. Sir Baumbard has an unfortunate tendency to get...-"

A small yawn, followed by a tiny, tiny sneeze. The Priestess and you immediately turn your heads downwards.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Samael's eyes, now wide open, are gleaming gold. His pupils are large and round, and reflect the room's candlelight.

Locked in a staring contest, you're suddenly filled with the uncontrollable urge to mash his chubby cheeks together, and squish Samael to the point of suffocation. Huh. Weird. You've never really felt any so-called 'maternal instincts' before, but you figure this is as good of a time as any for them to surface. But hey, this might actually be a sign that-

And then he starts crying. Of _course_ he has to start crying. It begins as a low keen, and at first you aren't sure what's going on, but it builds and builds into a high-pitched scream. You can feel Samael trembling on your lap, his eyes are watering, and your ears are ringing and you feel like a terrible person and oh-god-what-are-you-going-to-do...!

That's when Lady Celestia swoops in, tucking the tiny person into her arms. To your chagrin, Samael is almost immediately silenced, the scrawny little boy instantly becoming docile. Celestia rocks back and forth, patting and crooning and soothing. Eventually, Samael's tensed muscles relax and he curls up against her, burrowing his head against her shoulder and into Celestia's moon-doused hair..

The scene in front of you is so sickeningly sweet, you think you might get cavities... and then it clicks.

Your eyes widen as struggle to regain control of your mouth. "H-He thinks you're his mom!"

The lady nods, tucking a lock of black hair behind a tiny ear. "I took care of him while he was incubating. It's normal for him to recognize me, even if only by scent."

You are at an utter loss for words. For some reason that just seems totally weird to you. So he doesn't have a dragon mamma or anything? Just adopted by another species, huh. The concept sounds more than a little bit lonely, but despite the uneasy feeling in your core, you can't find anything outwardly worthy of objection. You reluctantly shut your mouth, breathing out your nose.

Okay. Calm down. You can do this. "So, is he going to be in the trunk the whole time or what? 'Cause it's pretty obvious he doesn't like me."

Lady Celestia chuckles. She _chuckles_. "Now that Samael has awoken, returning him to the Dragon Box would be the same if you or I were in his place."

Oh. That's great. You suddenly get the feeling this whole trip is going to be one extended baby sitting job. If that's the case, you really aren't cut out for it. Journeying with a Dragon Lord, perhaps learning a few heroing tips along the way? Heck yes. Taking care of a three-year old kid that doesn't like you? Uhm. Not your cup of tea.

You shift in your plush armchair, and end up sinking in a few more inches. Just what you needed. "Look, Lady Celestia, m-maybe I was a little too hasty in agreeing with you. I mean, do you know how much money it costs to for the starter experience points? And the traveling fees? Psh. Wayyyy too expensive. Destiny or not, you'd be better off hiring a professional." You swing yourself up and hurry out the door... or at least try to. It takes a little more effort than that to pull yourself from the sinkhole of an armchair cushion. By the time you manage to free yourself, your quick and speedy getaway is spoiled.

Lady Celestia winks, and she waves you over her way. It appears that you won't be able to escape from this one. With a huff, you comply, and crouch next to her noticeably less-enveloping armchair. Or, maybe she manages to stay atop of it somehow. Like her lady-like aura is enough to keep her afloat over the swathes of sinkage. Seems likely.

Samael's golden eyes flash your way. He... _snarls_... and his shoulder-blades give a spasm underneath light spun fabric. Um. Holy shit. Is he having a seizure or something? You glance over towards Lady Celestia, but she's the picture of lady-like grace. It must be one of those dragon things then. Mildly horrified, you return your attention to the scene before you.

It quickly becomes clear that either Samael has wings, or his back has been taken over by some kind of demon-spawn mutation. Probably the former, considering you can see the outline of spiny, bat-like appendages underneath his shirt. Which is odd, because with the hem of Samael's neckline pulled back, a line of ruff-like feathers are clearly visible.

The baby dragon continues to thrash, eyebrows meeting to form an unmistakable glare you way. Wow. This kid really hates you. When you tell Lady Celestia as much, she predictably gives life to a string of bell-like laughter.

"Fledglings are known to be incredibly defensive of their adopted parents, automatically labeling them as an inferior species in need of protection. But he _does_ seem to be a tad more hostile than the standard... I wonder why... You were around the chest, if only for a little bit. I was hoping he'd recognize you as a sister..." The Priestess, seemingly lost in thought, tightens her grip on Samael, soothing him with a few well-placed pats.

Then she stiffens, eyebrows flying upwards. Samael grumbles, and Celestia shakes her head, perfect posture returning. Almost. A slow smirk slowly works its way into her features. She gives you a calculating once-over. She mumbles something under her breath, but you can only catch the word _'interesting'_.

Ahaha. Lovely. More plots and secrets. You sit up, pretty much through with this whole thing. Celestia can keep her cranky dragon baby. You'd really like the money, but you're not a freaking charity drive. You've escaped the clutches of poverty, you're doing well now. So what if you can't be a hero? Sure, it's been your dream ever since you were little, but at least you aren't poor anymore.

A high-pitched squeal, and suddenly something warm and skinny is thrust your way, knocking you off-balance and onto the floor. You land with an eyes-squeezed-shut _oof_, onto your bottom. Samael is sprawled on top of you, heavier than he was in the forest, but still bony. You jerk your face away in alarm. Ah! Is Lady Celestia trying to kill you!? Samael is totally going to rip your head... off...?

He's shaking again.

You instantly feel like the worst of evils. Wow. The little guy is only afraid of you. "L-Lady Celestia, uh, what am I supposed to do...?"

The Lady has an oddly warm expression on her face, as if the ice of her blue eyes has finally melted. "Introduce yourself." She responds simply.

"He can talk?" Weird. All you've heard coming from the guy are rumbles, screams, and snarls.

Her lips twitch. "Samael has been talking this entire time. It's just that, even in a humanoid _form_, dragons aren't human. Their vocal cords and respitory system doesn't allow them to form words. He can understand you, but humans can't understand them without being bonded. If you want to try to figure out what he's saying, you're going to have to pay attention."

Well, okay then? You suppose it's worth a shot. You take care to make your words as soft and non-threatening as possible. "Hey there."

Samael immediately tenses on top of you. He's not shaking, but when he finally looks up, his pupils are dialated and eyes are wary. You swallow.

"My name is Lita. You're pretty cute, you know?"

He stares for moment, before giving a little gulp. Samael's head whips around, looking up at Lady Celestia. You can't see his expression from where you are, but you can imagine him sending a pleading look her way. _'Please help, Mommy, this weird person is trying to talk to me!'_

Lady Celestia just nods, and waves a hand towards you. Samael whimpers, and you can see his wings twitch slightly under his shirt. He's so shy!

You stifle a grin, and slowly stretch your hand towards him. Samael seems frozen in place, but you can feel his grip on your shirt tightening. "It's okay Samael... I'm not gonna hurt you..."

Your fingertips brush the dragonling's forehead, and creep towards his hairline. Samael tenses, then almost reluctantly leans into your touch. After a few seconds, a positively kitten-like purring fills the air. Giddiness explodes within you . Success!

"Lady Celestia!" You stage-whisper, trying to resist the urge to bounce up and down. "I did it! He likes me now!"

She tips her head in agreement, but seems to choose her words carefully. "Indeed. Though, I wonder if you'll be so glad for it later."

Your new-found friend Mr. Happy Bubble punctures and deflates. "What? Why do you say that!?"

The Lady gives a wry smile that echoes of past experience. "Dragons of all ages are rather... _clingy_."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Understatement. Huge understatement.

As usual, Lady Celestia is as right as always. After the two of you talked out the business side of the agreement, she said her goodbyes to the dragonling, and sent the two of you outside to meet up with Sir Baumbard.

Since you habitually store all of your things in your inventory (harder to steal that way), you don't really have to go pack. It's all kind of sudden, but you can't think of any reason for delay, so you just go along with it.

But damn, those bitty baby claws are starting to hurt. Does Samael really have to hold onto you *that* tightly? His arms and legs are like wrapped like steel vices around your torso and neck. You're pretty sure you could stop supporting him and he'd stay on all by himself. Scared? Hah. The kid is *terrified* of people.

It's good that the earlier hustle and bustle has calmed down. The rushing people and kicked up dust are gone, and the yard is pretty much desolate except for the occasional knight and the ever-stationary Captain Rolith and Sir Prize.

If a measly handful of people can frighten the dragonling this badly, how the heck is he going to survive traversing the over-populated streets of Falconreach?

The city is a day's walk away. You glance skywards, humming under your breath in an attempt to calm Samael down. Well, from the looks of things, the sun will set in a few hours. Screw Lady Celestia; Falconreach is only a day's walk away. You're not going to spend a night camping if you don't absolutely have to.

Arms full of baby dragon, you slip past Oaklore's reinforced gates. Maybe you should ask Sir Baumbard if you guys can leave early tomorrow morning instead. Hopefully that'll be enough time for the kid to get a little bit more used to people.

Though he stands off to the side of the beaten bath, Sir Baumbard is really easy to spot, considering he is about six feet of armor and chest length beard/mustache. Behind the tree cover, you can make out the shadowy outline of his dragon. That helps.

"Sir!" You jog his way, warily glancing either way.

His grey eyes sparkle, though you can't tell if he's smiling or not behind all of the brown viking hair. "Hail Lita! You are certainly fortunate to shoulder this most important quest."

What's with it with old-timers and using old English? "Er... yeah. I was just wondering, could we leave tomorrow instead? Falconreach is only a days walk away, but it's going to get dark soon. We could avoid camping outside altogether if we wait."

The older man shakes his head. "My apologies, fair maiden. It is Lady Celestia's wish that we depart as soon as possible. As you may have learned, the dragons get a tad sketchy around normal humans."

You swallow, and slowly raise your face towards the tree hidden figure. "Oh, and hi, Glumbert. You and Sir Baumbard haven't met Samael yet, have you?" Oh God, what are you doing? Samael's going to have a panic attack! Heck, *you're* going to have a panic attack! You've only ever clearly seen him once before, but Glumbert is freaking scary!

A low, *low* rumble comes from Glumbert's direction. You can feel it vibrating through the air, through the ground, and up your legs. Dragonspeak?

Sir Baumbard winks. "You've only had the hatchling for less than a day, yet you're already learning. Glumbert here wants to know why the little one is so attached to someone he's not bonded with."

You sniff, patting Samael down as if he was the one who was offended. "W-We have a bond. Just not an official one like you two have. Samael and I might have only just met, but I'm the one who's taking care of him and we're *buddies*. Besides-" You drop your gaze. Huh. The grass is pretty green. "-Samael is little. He's _shy_."

More rumbling. Samael spasms in your arms, lunges towards Glumbert, and *snarls*. Alarm rings through you're body and you instinctively pull him close. That doesn't seem to calm him down though, so you lean your head against his, and run your hands through his black hair. The dragon grumbles a bit, but eventually succumbs. In no time at all he's practically asleep on your shoulder.

Sir Baumbard, on the other hand, is extremely lively. He bursts into a roll of thunderous guffaws, and your pride feels a more than a little bit stung.

"What!?" You demand. "What did he say!"

"Oh-hoh!" Sir Baumbard cheers. "It seems that both dragon and maiden have more fire than meets the eye. Excellent!"

The old guy didn't answer your freaking question! "Why did Samael get so upset?"

The Dragon Lord breaks into a new round of laughter entirely. "Samael, is it? Glumbert was just a bit too straight-forward with the child, that's all. No need to worry."

Uh-huh. For some reason, you feel that there is indeed a cause for worry. Suspicious old man. Well, actually, he's middle aged, but that doesn't mean anything. At least you haven't picked up any perverted vibes from him. But getting back to the point at hand.

"So we can't wait for tomorrow? Even though that means we might have to camp out in the monster-infested forest?"

Sir Baumbard just kind of looks at you. Weird. Are you missing something, or what? Oh! You look over Glumbert's way. Dragon. Duh. How could you be so stupid?

You grin. "I get it! Glumbert's going to fly us over there, right?"

Sir Baumbard coughs, metal armor clinking as he shifts his weight from side to side. "Well... no. You see, I get a little, hm, *airsick*."

Airsick. A Dragon Lord that gets... airsick. You raise a questioning eyebrow. Sure, dude. Sure.

Is it just you or is he turning a little pink. "It's a very long tale, maiden. Involving Sir Loin's jello and a few other things."

You're about to give voice to some of your more skeptical thoughts when Sir Baumbard breaks into a round of less-enthusiastic laughter. "Now, no need to tarry, hero! Onward! We have a journey to complete!"

His long, ragged cape swooshes behind him as he begins to stride away from the keep. Glumbert's shadowy mass rumbles, and moves after him.

For being freaking humongous, Glumbert moves with all the grace in the world. Steely talons dig into the ground as he treads, like a wildcat unable to sheathe its claws. The reason he was able to stay hidden for so long is thanks to his leathery brown hide. Glumbert's spiny wings fold neatly in between his shoulder blades, and interestingly enough, lack the feathers you know Samael to have. The monstrous look is completed with glistening red eyes, and the end of his gaping maw tipped with a curved horn.

He's soundless, but certainly leaves a path of destruction in his wake. Glumbert is a bit too big for the forest. Sure, the trees are taller than him, but... Oh boy. This is going to be a long trip, you can already tell.

Samael begins to squirm in your arms, and no amount of patting and fretting seem to calm him down. What's his deal? You look around, trying to figure out the problem is.

Your stomach drops.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

The sight of curved fangs envelopes your vision. Oh Lore. Larger than you thought. White. Sharp.

You immediately stumble backwards, your heart _thump-thump-thumping_ away in your chest. Ahhh, uh, what are you supposed to do? Remember, he's not a monster, he's not a monster.

You force your lips to turn upwards. "Oh, hahaha... Glumbert... don't sneak up on people... personal space, buddy!" You jokingly joke, tightening your hold on Samael.

Glumbert's laughter sounds like rocks grinding against one another, grating against your earbuds. His somewhat slim tail twitches off to the side, its spikes gouging out furrows in the dirt path. Does that mean he's contemplating something or that he's messing with you?

You don't particularly want to risk it, either way. Glumbert's ruby eyes are glinting strangely, all predator.

Samael, however, seems to have other plans. The little boy writhes in your grasp. You grapple with him, but he slips through before you even know what's happening. Crappers. "Samael! Wait! Glumbert's a little old for you to be messing...-"

Something cool brushes against the side of your arm. Alarm spikes through you, and you whip your head to the side, only to find that Sir Baumbard has stepped beside you.

You guess he saw your over-reaction, because his lips twitch into a smile underneath the mustache. "Calm yourself, maiden. Dragon age is more relative than one might think." Sir Baumbard's grey gaze drifts back towards the two non-humans.

What the heck is that supposed to mean? But your eyes follow his all the same.

Glumbert and Samael are staring at each other, and you're briefly reminded of your own first encounter with the dragonling. Samael stands defiantly, feet apart, while Glumbert's front legs are bent, shoulders rolling.

Then the rumbling fills the air. It's as deep as ever, but it seems as if a new tremor has been added, one that's higher pitched and resonates in your throat instead of your stomach. Samael! Your eyes widen. They must be "talking" about something.

Hesitating for only a moment, you nudge the guy next to you. "Hey... what're they saying?"

For a moment, Sir Baumbard's grey eyes bare a startling resemblance to his dragon's predatory one. "Oh, this and that."

Well. Vague, much? You open your mouth to reply. Or, you know, demand that he give you an actual answer, not some wishy-washy wise crap.

A sudden burst of snarling rips through the air. You heart jumps into your throat, and all the words dissappear from your mind. You whip around. Oh Lore. There's going to be blood. Bones. Ripped skin and muscles, you can see it now, just like before, when your dad-

Samael, sprawled out a feet away, leaps to his feet. He runs forward, or at least the best he can for a little guy, and baby-tackles Glumbert's nearest paw. Another snarl fills the air. The older dragon shakes his front limb, but very lightly. Still, Samael only _just_ manages to hang on. You can see his already pale knuckles turning white, and his brows furrowing in what you suppose must be determination.

Oh. Are they... *playing*?

**...**

Unfortunately, it seems that Samael has abandoned you for his new "play-mate".

That damn Glumbert. The old dragon *seems* stoic and hard to please, but in reality he has to be some sort of craggy softie. At least towards children. You sigh, and glare at the brown creature-person-monster-beast-thing padding behind you. Last time you checked, Samael was napping in the crevice between Glumbert's shoulder blades. The little dragon shouldn't have the upper body strength to climb that high, so you have to assume Glumbert helped him up somehow.

With the two dragons minding their own business, you're left alone to deal with an old guy acquaintance. You two walk in silence, his strides long and head held high, while you just kind of shuffle-trot a step behind him. Should you be talking to him? Would that be the polite thing to do?

You don't really know. You've never really had to worry about being polite to anyone, besides the town Guardians, unless they were someone you were working for.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance over at Mr. Long Beard. He seems stuffy, but nice. If you were to try and start a conversation, would he not like you? Ah! What if his well-groomed mannerisms took offense to your eternally-informal language and cursing?

Something soft and small tugs at your hand. What the-? You look down, jaw tensing. Oh. Just Samael.

His yellow eyes are wide and questioning, his kitten-purr rumble vibrating up your arm. Is this his way of comforting you? You snicker. "I guess it's not too hard to understand you after all, huh, little guy." Something inside you feels warm and melty. You reach down, intending to ruffle Samael's fluffy, almost feather-like hair, but the dragonling bares his baby fangs and pulls his hand away from yours. When Glumbert gets close enough, he shoots you a dirty look and latches on to the older dragon's leg.

Jeez. Rejected. Can't get love even from a kid, huh?

Beside you (and apparently watching the entire scene), Sir Baumbard barks out his signature full-throated laughter. "Ah-hah! Do not take his reluctance to heart, maiden. The boy simply doesn't want you to think of him as a child."

The spark of irritation ignites within you. For one, you're *not* a maiden. If he's too old-timey to address you by name then he can think of a more appropriate term, like *hero*, or *adventurer*. But that's an argument for another time.

"As a child? But Samael's only, like, three years old." You mutter, face tensed up into a scowl.

Another chortle. What is it with middle-aged people and laughing? "Did I not say dragon age works differently than human age?"

Uh-huh. "You know, Samael seems comfortable now, because he's been introduced to me by his mother, and happens to like Glumbert, but if he was left alone with you he'd probably start crying." You point out, raising an eyebrow.

The sides of Sir Baumbard's mustache lift upwards. Is he smiling? He'd better be. You can't think of any other reason why that'd be happening... "He may young of body, but I assure you Samael is far more intelligent than you give him credit for. A baby to dragons, but a human such as yourself shouldn't be naming him so."

You roll your eyes and largely dismiss Sir Baumbard's advice. He may be the dragon expert, but due to the way you grew up, you have much more experience with people. Plus, you're the one who _found_ the kid. You know what you're talking about.

But despite all of that, the ice has been broken. The first hour of your hike is spent ranting and telling stories to the older man, who's proved to be a good listener. But he still laughs. A lot.

It's starting to get harder to see. You know the day isn't as late as it appears to be underneath the forest roof, but as the bird twitter slows, you grow a little more anxious. But you know this path, this way back home to Falconreach.

What? Just after turning a corner, your nose bumps into the Sir Baumbard's armored shoulders. Why has he stopped the march? It's going to get dark soon! You rub your sore nose, stepping out from behind the Dragon Lord. "Hey, dude, what gives...-?"

Your eyes widen. The last time you walked through here, the path wasn't blocked.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

You tilt your face upwards, eyes following the stack of neatly hewn tree trunks haphazardly dumped in the middle of the dirt path. It's really freaking tall, at least twenty or thirty feet. Taller than Glumbert, in any case. Without meaning to, a low whistle escapes your lips. Though Sir Baumbard gives you a sharp look, it simply bounces off the shield of your pure awe.

Damn. That is one tall stack of wood. Eyes wide, you're running your hands along the blockade before you know it. Though the bark catches on your calluses, the wood where the tree has been sawed off is suspiciously smooth. You close your eyes, withdrawing your arms and shaking your head.

What idiot would take the time to cut all of this wood and then just leave it out in the middle of the road? Growing up and enduring hard labor at a young age, you *know* how long it must have taken to do all of this. How come they didn't reap the benefits of their work and sell this stuff for building resources?

Sir Baumbard runs one hand through his lengthy beard, the other settled on the hilt of his shiethed blade. "This is certainly a problem, is it not, maiden?"

You jerk back to reality, blinking a little. "Hmm...? Oh yeah. Sure. Big problem."

The retired knight gives a huff, grey eyes rolling. He, too, gives the nearest log a rub-down, gauntlets scraping against the loose pieces of bark. "Interesting. The entire path is blocked. Do you think there could possibly be some sort of construction going on farther down?"

That's a no-brainer, but you shrug all the same. "I don't think so, unless this what they're actually using for the construction. There are cheaper ways to get the point across."

Cue awkward silence.

After a bit of shuffling around, Glumbert shoves his sizeable snout in between you and the Dragon Lord. You stumble backwards with a yelp, only barely evading a collision with the descending Samael.

Glumbert's dragonspeak rumbles through the forest floor. Sir Baumbard dictates something in reply, but you can't hear what he's saying thanks to all of the lizard in the way.

Jeez. Cheek twitching in irritation, you scoop Samael into your arms with a huff. He squirms around of a bit, elbows knocking against your collarbone, but eventually clamps himself around your neck and waist. Your face breaks into a smile against your will, and you dig your fingers into Samael's hair, giving it a good-natured ruffle. The dragonling grumbles a bit, but doesn't make any move beyond that. Well, at least it seems like he's forgiven you... for whatever you did. Stuff would be easier if you could only make sense of their generic rumbling.

A gust of wind swooshes into your face, making your hair fly back and your eyes burn. Glumbert's huge form takes off into the air, over the blockade, and faster than you ever would've thought. Wow. You blink rapidly, rubbing your eyes, and through your blurry vision, you shift Samael's weight on your hips and hobble over to Sir Baumbard.

"Where's he going?" You ask absentmindedly, craning your neck to try and check on the dragonling held against you.

Sir Baumbard tips his head to the right. You blink (for the millionth time) and glance over in that direction.

Huh. You didn't notice it before, but the trees are much thinner over there. A mini path a couple feet wide snakes its way off to the side, and around the bend. From the looks of things, it's pretty obvious to you where the trail leads. You nod. "A shortcut."

The knight gives the pile of wood on last look-over before opening his satchel and equipping a lantern. "I noticed it earlier. Glumbert can't fit between the trees, so he will be meeting us at the edge of the forest." He lights it, and without hesitation, turns to face the gaping black opening in the forest.

The side of your mouth tilts upwards in approval. With technology unreliable in the presence of monsters, any adventurer worth his or her mettle would always have some kind of alternative on hand. Ahem. Well, you only have a flashlight, but it's not like you were planning on making any sort of nighttime trek. Lanterns are expensive, after all.

It's not _that_ dark yet, but you can tell just by looking it'll nearly be black as pitch under the increased level of tree cover. You move all of Samael's weight to one arm, and use your freed limb to scroll through your bag's interface screen, selecting the 'Battered Hand-Torch' (aka your flashlight). Hey, it may be unreliable, but at least it's something. In any case, if there are any monsters around you'll be warned in advance.

Dragon in one hand, light in the other, you scurry after Sir Baumbard.

The lantern light is positively ghostly against the surrounding brush. Damn. You don't have any real nighttime forest experience uner your belt. Sure, to make up for it you're pretty street-savvy, but... You inch a bit closer to your companion.

Yeah. What do you have to be afraid of? Sir Baumbard is big. A Dragon Lord. Admittedly his dragon is waiting at the end of the forest, but still. You sneek a peek at the blade strapped to his side. That's a pretty big sword. You'll probably be okay.

If you're going to be okay, how come things are so quiet? It's like some crazied mass-murderer came and killed all of the forest insects or something. The only things making noise are the leaves under your combat boots, and Sir Baumbards freaky dragon armor claw/feet whatever the heck.

Crunch... crunch... crunch... *Snap.*

You freeze. Oh crap. Oh crappity crap. You aim your shaking flashlight (which, luckily, hasn't gone out yet) at Sir Baumbard's face and give his cheek a few good prods.

He turns to face you, narrowed eyes suggesting he's not amused. "What is-"

You don't even have time to scream.

Shadows erupt from between trees. You automatically leap away, only to be shoved into the dirt by big hands. Your arms are full, but you manage to spare Samael by tilting to the side and letting your arm and shoulder take all of the damage. Your damaged skin burns and throbs, but you almost throw yourself into a sitting position, clicking off your flashlight and scrambling into the undergrowth.

"Ahahaha! You've fallen into a Darkwolf Bandit ambush!"

You duck behind a tree while clangs and shouts echo behind you. Agh, what are you going to do!? Run? Help? Run to get help?

Still crouched, you press your back into the bark and try to make yourself as small as possible. Without your flashlight, dark presses in from all sides, a tangible thing that fills your eyes and mouth... but not your ears. You can hear what's going on very clearly.

A battle cry, followed by a familar "Ah-hah!" laughter. Sir Baumbard seems to be doing fine, but how long will that last? You know there's more than just the one guy that pushed you, but you didn't get to see how many exactly. Sure, Sir Baumbard is a Dragon Lord, but Glumbert isn't around. How sharp are his meelee skills? He's an old guy after all. What if they beat him? What if he gets *killed*.

You heart skips a beat. What if *you* get killed?

These dudes probably set up the road block and the ambush in advance. If Sir Baumbard goes down, and they realize they're missing a person, you're toast. Crap, crap, *crap*! Why are you freaking out so much!? Even Samael doesn't seem to be afraid, and he's three years old!

In fact, Samael's lack of expression is more than a little disturbing, to say the least. Isn't he supposed to be terrified of people? You peer downward, trying to make out the details of his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Uncreased. Bored. Maybe a little tired. With your night vision adjusting, you can only sort of make out Samael's expression, but from what you can tell he seems neutral at best. The dragonling blinks slowly, giving the area a lethargic look-over before yawning, exposing tiny fangs, and adjusting his position in your lap.

Weird. You'd think his vision and hearing would be better than yours, or something like that, right? Samael should know more about what's happening than you. Well then. Childhood naivety, anyone?

A tremendous screech of metal against metal. "Too slow, old man! Give us the Black Dragon Box!"

How do they know!? So they aren't you're average bandits then, huh? Probably sent by Sepulcher. You tighten your hold on Samael, trying not to move as leaves and sticks dig into your jean-clad legs. If they're after *him*, then maybe you should run after all.

A clatter, followed by a groan. "We'll let you live if you tell us where it is."

But then again, they didn't say they were after Samael specifically. You take a deep breath, and lean forward, pressing your forehead against Samael's. "Okay, whatever you do, don't move from this spot." He just stares up at you. You're not sure what that means, but you don't have any time to think about it. All you can do is move.

Resisting your screaming instincts, you crawl away from the tree, leaving Samael propped up against it. Staggering to your feet, you leave the tree cover.

The pathway is lit by men carrying torches. Sir Baumbard is on his knees in the center of their circle, face red, and chest heaving. His sword is nowhere to be seen.

When you step forward, a murmur ripples through the group. A dark haired man wearing a flowy purple cape jerks his head towards you, giving you a quick once-over. Obviously the leader. You can always tell because he's the one who looks rich in comparison to his underlings.

Before he can say anything, like, ordering them to kill you for example, you open your satchel, and select your chosen item from the user interface.

The Black Dragon Box lands with a audible thud at your feet. No one moves. The forest is utterly silent.

You don't have to say anything. Your action speaks for itself, and judging by the slow grin spreading across Purple Cape's face, he knows it too.

"Well," he drawls, casually kicking Sir Baumbard out of the way as he walks towards you. "It seems your little friend here is a bit smarter than you, huh?"

You don't respond, and only watch him as he kneels in front of you, tucking the chest under one arm.

Sir Baumbard wheezes, and shakily tries to stand. "N-No! Fair maiden! Don't let him-!" Another kick from a nearby bandit quickly silences him, and the Dragon Lord retiree crumples into the dirt.

The man, eyes cold, sneers. ""I am the rightful ruler of this land, and the box is going to help me reclaim my throne. I need it more than you ever will, old man."

You swallow. This is the difficult, risky part. You know bandits. They'll do whatever it takes to make some cash. A breaking a few promises mean nothing to those in need of money.

Sir Baumbard groans, face bruising. He stuggles, but doesn't move from his place in the dirt.

Purple Cape smiles, and you have the sudden urge to throw up. He passes the Black Dragon Box to one of his men, and turns to face you.

"Now, we said we'd let the old man live. He can go free, if he can manage to even move." A few of the bandits/ambushers chuckle at that, their laughter muffled by the handkerchiefs hiding the lower halves of their faces.

The leader raises his blade, directing its point straight at you. His voice is silky and nonchalant as ever as he continues.

"But I never said anything about you, did I?"


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Your veins freeze.

No. You guess he didn't. It's like some weird sense of calm has swept over you. Your smile is as cold as your blood. "Ahaha, clever. So you're going to kill me now, hmm?"

Why are you so accepting about this? Though, in consideration, it might have something to do with the fact that, even if you die, at least it won't be in some alleyway. It'll be a hero's death, for the sake of everyone else. Like your dad. Oh, and the fact that Purple Cape's precious Black Dragon Box is missing its dragon.

He's going to have a surprise waiting for him when he finally crawls back into the sewers to check his loot. Ehehehe, evil face.

Purple Cape's left eye twitches. "You're going to give me attitude? Fool. That won't make your death any swifter."

Death. The end. Goodbye. Maybe you should kill yourself before he gets you? No, no, that would be stupid. Crap. If you run, they're probably going to kill Sir Baumbard. No more twinkling eyes and upturned mustaches...

Ah man. But even if you die, there's no guarantee they'll spare him anyhow. Okay. Yeah. Might as well give this survival thing a shot. Try to take their attention away from the others, in any case.

Your eyes fly open, mouth falling into a perfect 'O'. Your hand flashes out, and you jab your pointer finger in the general direction of the woodpile. "Look, over there! What the *heck* is that thing!?"

Purple Cape laughs. "As if we're going to fall for-" He blinks, looking over at his comrades/minions. "You're actually looking!? Stop it, you buffoons! It's the oldest trick in the book!"

And by that time there is already a small dust cloud where you were once standing.

...

Run, run, run. Your feet pound down the forest path, head throbbing in time with the jolts.

_**[the original running scene was deleted by a combination nanowrimo and my own stupidity]**_

The bridge! Leading to Falconreach, the ancient stone architecture is always guarded by a knight of Oaklore, usually by...

"Sir Pent!" You scream, loud enough to burn your vocal cords. The knight, lounging against a column about twenty feet away, jerks to attention, his metal visor spinning to face you.

"Hail, traveler! Who goes-"

Thighs burning, you sprint down the hill, skidding to a halt and almost colliding with the knight. "No time for that! Those Darkwolf Bandits or whatever-the-heck attacked us in the forest! They're following me! My friends are in trouble, go help them!"

He stumbles, digging his feet into the ground, as you try to drag him. "Slow down! I guard this bridge, not the forest. I cannot abandon my post."

You whirl around, eyes spewing fire. "Like hell you won't! I'm telling you nice old dude's gonna die because you won't_ abandon your freaking post_!?"

Sir Pent managed to look sheepish, even in a suit of armor. "Er. Well, when you put it like that..."

You can't dawdle here. Dragons to find, people to save...! "Okay, yeah, sure, I know! Just go that way! There are people chasing me, so take care of them first! Oh! Uh, have you by any chance seen a dragon?"

The knight shifts from side to side. "I cannot say that I have. However, there were some dubious sounds coming from_ that _direction." He gestures to the part of the forest you came from.

Oh Lore. You can't believe this is happening. "Like... screaming? Clanging? Evil and/or joyous laughter?"

Sir Pent shakes his head, armor scraping (but not squealing like that other guy's, haha). "No. I am not sure how to describe it... but I believe it sounded like... Rocks grinding together? Again, I do not know. It was comparable to a miniature landslide."

That sounds familiar. Dragonspeak? Who was Glumbert trying to talk to, then? No, that's not important right now. The question is, how are you going to try to get to him? You could try to go through the forest, but then there's a good chance of getting lost, or an even better chance of encountering monsters. Maybe you should stick with Sir Pent, or maybe just take the bridge back to Falconreach yourself...

Shouts echo from a ways behind you.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

* * *

_Things are not always as they seem; the first appearance deceives many. _

_-Phaedrus_

* * *

Annnd here they come. That's it; you're going rogue.

"Sir Pent! Do you here that? Get ready for a fight!" You call behind your shoulder as you start speed walking away. You don't wait to see if he responds, you just_ go_.

Ehem. You break into a sprint the moment you hit the tree line on the opposite side of the path. RUN LIKE A GROUP OF BANDIT MEN ARE BEHIND YOU!

The darkness englufs you once more, and not being used to it, you are now as blind as a bat. Running on the path and running through the forest itself are two very different things. Instead of step-step-step-step, it's more of a step-step-stumble-hit tree-bounce off-step.

Once you're a few meters in, however, it becomes quickly clear that no amount of night vision will allow you to see what's going on. Not wanting to drop it, you pause for a moment, and plunge a trembling hand into your satchel, extracting your handheld inventory and selecting your flashlight in record time.

Though for a few worry-filled seconds it flickers a bit, the battered flashlight turns on, and its powerful beam lights up the forest around you. Hopefully it won't act as a homing beacon for those looking for you. Sir Pent didn't seem too strong; if Purple Cape sent more than a couple of guys after you, the knight is toast. A part of you winces at your callousness, but you know you have to prioritize. You can't save everyone, after all.

NOW CONTINUE RUNNING LIKE A GROUP OF BANDIT MEN ARE BEHIND YOU! Though, of course, hopefully they aren't. That would suck.

**...**

Well, you've run around for at least ten minutes. Considering it only took about a three to five-minute sprint to get from the shortcut to the bridge, you're probably lost. Which wasn't exactly what you had set out to do.

Your pace declines from a jog to a cautious walk. You step on tree roots when you can to avoid making any crunching sounds. Because after what happened earlier, crunching sounds may from now on traumatize you.

Now that you've stopped running, you're starting to cool off a little. It's summertime, so the temperature shouldn't get _that_ bad... you think. Still, it wouldn't be a good idea to camp out here. You and Sir Baumbard had intended to stock up at Falconreach, so the only food you have with you is a lump of somewhat-stale bread you snuck from the Mess Hall while you were waitressing last night. Crap. That reminds you. _Sir Baumbard._

How is he doing? Is he even alive? It's highly plausible that Purple Cape killed him out of frustration after you ran for it. You're not sure what to think about that; it's like you can't feel anything anymore. Like the calm from facing the Darkwolf Bandits stuck around and just sort of made you numb.

Your leisurely pace slows to a halt, and you rest your weight against the nearest tree. Ouch! You yank yourself back with a yelp, your arm and shoulder suddenly on fire.

Oh yeah. You totally forgot about the roadburn from that guy pushing you at the start of the ambush. Damn. Now you're going to have to deal with the burning until you find someone with health potions. You laugh, a soft sort of demented giggle. So much for numb.

But hey, if you're lost then hopefully no one will be able to find you. While that would normally be a bad thing, considering the circumstances, for the moment it means safety.

And then your flashlight goes out.

Well crappers. Not only are you officially blind, but there's probably a monster somewhere nearby. In fact, you can pretty much guarantee a confrontation any second now. Your alarm bells should be ringing like crazy, but at this point you've sort of entered the _'ah screw everything'_ mindset. But that doesn't mean you're willing to die here.

Ready to use your weighty and experienced flashlight as a weapon if needed, you keep your back to the nearest tree trunk. You know that trying to look around would be futile, so instead you stand with your knees bent and feet apart, ears straining.

At first, there's nothing besides the sound of your own breathing. No birds, no insects; _nothing_. While they could have shut up because of your intrusion, you can't shake the events of the ambush out of your head. Everything was quiet then, too.

So you listen, and you listen some more. But after a while of 'nothing', you try your flashlight again, spamming the rubber button with your rapid thumb movement. Still not working. Weird. Maybe it's broken?

But then your ears prick up, your subconscious detecting the sound before your actual brain can catch on.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

A familiar, bass vibration rumbles its way under the forest floor and up your legs. A sudden surge of hope swells within you, threatening to spill over and out your tear ducts.

"G-Glumbert!" You shriek, stumbling blindly towards the source of the dragonspeak. You have to fight your way through a bush, but in no time at all the trees thin out, and you tumble off the edge of the forest and onto an expansive brown hide.

Huh. Warm and surprisingly smooth. But the rumble deepens, and you scramble off of what appears to be a hind leg. Glumbert doesn't seem too irritated, but you're not very familiar with dragon facial expressions, so you don't want to take the risk. An any case, you race around to the front, where his head is.

"Listen! Sir Baumbard is in trouble! We have to go help him!" You insist, running up and using both hands to tug on the nearest talon. "I tried looking for you , but I ended up getting lost. Who knows what could have happened by then!? _Hurry_!"

A warm chuckle stifles the increasingly angry-sounding dragonspeak. You freeze. Holy heck. Is Glumbert talking to you, or could it be...?

"Actually, _we_ were looking for _you_, fair maiden." Sir Baumbard calls down from his perch up on Glumbert's back, seated in between the dragon's shoulder blades like Samael before him. Speaking of Samael, where is the little guy? You scan the area, but don't find his pale countenance anywhere.

Ah. Focus. Not important right now. You tilt your head upwards. "So Purple Cape didn't kill you?"

Sir Baumbard pokes his head over the side of Glumbert's back. Well, actually only his horned helmet makes it into your visual range, but whatever. "Purple Cape?"

Oh. Awkward. "The leader of those Darkwolf dudes." You clarify, resisting the urge to go hunting around for your dragon buddy. He has to be around here somewhere... Unless he was left in his hiding place behind the tree? Ick. You had intended to avoid poorly lit places as often as possible from here on out.

"Ah." The horns on Sir Baumbard's helmet move up and down, so you assume he's nodding. "The rogue's name is Drakath. Normally he makes that very clear at the first opportunity he gets. Drakath is the only son of the deceased tyrant Lord Slugwrath. The fool thinks he holds a birthright to the throne, but his determination is what makes him dangerous."

Slugwrath had a son? Oh well. Politics were never really important to you or your mother, especially politics that happened years shrug, but then remember that Sir Baumbard probably can't see you. You cup your hands around your mouth. "So he wasn't working for Sepulcher? That's a relief."

The old (middle-aged) man laughs again. Why is he always laughing? Your question wasn't even funny! "I can't say for sure. It's hard to concentrate with the boy clawing at my armor. He probably wants down. " Sir Baumbard sticks Samael off to the side, past his helmet. "I believe this is yours?" The knight finishes. Arms crossed, and held aloft by the ruff of his shirt, the little dragonling looks more puppy-like than ever.

Ahahaha, he's pouting! How cute! You burst into a grin, moving to stand beneath Samael. You hold your arms outstretched. "Yeah, he's mine. Drop him for me, will ya?" From this vantage point, you can finally see Sir Baumbard's face. His grey eyes are glittering. "With pleasure, fair maiden."

Your hands hook underneath his skinny arms the moment he falls within range. Your elbows only slightly bent, you begin to spin around, keeping Samael well above your head. "See here little dude! We made it!" But the little dude, limp in your grasp, only hisses.

Sir Baumbard's gasp is audible and a bit too dramatic for the situation. "By Lore, boy, watch your mouth!"

Glumbert rumbles, his dragonspeak a bit higher pitched than usual. Sir Baumbard's mouth drops even lower. "Don't laugh, you nincompoop! Have _you_ been teaching him these things!?"

The rumbles only get higher, and when Sir Baumbard just throws his arms up in the air, Glumbert has to actually rest the front of his snout against the hillside, a faint shaking of his chest and shoulders only barely visible.

In hindsight, you probably contributed to dirtying Samael's language more than anyone else, but you figure now isn't really the time to mention that. Instead, you turn your attention to Samael, drawing him closer. "D'awww, is someone cranky?"

When he frowns, his mouth is like an upside-down "v". Samael rapidly shakes his head back and forth, crossing his arms again.

Agh, cuteness overload. Someday this kid is going to kill you. "Is that so? But you don't seem too happy...?" You ask, your brown eyes searching his out. For some reason Samael still refuses to look at you.

Atop his dragon, Sir Baumbard barks out a _'hah!'_. "The boy wants to be seen as a man, I would think." He cajoles as Glumbert begins walking forward.

Not missing a beat, you follow, and the group begins to move and walk at the same time. It's really freaking dark by now, but with a massive dragon next to you equipt with night-vision, and the after effects of _hey, we didn't die_ still in effect, at this point you couldn't really care less.

You laugh. "Is that so? Here, since Mr. Manly Man isn't a baby, he can walk on his own for a little bit, hmm? You've been carried around all day, and I've been running all over the place." You plop Samael on the ground, and before he can protest, secure one of his tiny hands in one of your own. His claws make faint pinpricks against your skin, and while it doesn't hurt right now you really hope nothing suddenly startles him.

A familiar voice breaks through the comfortable silence. "Halt! Tis I, Sir Pent!"


	12. OH SNAP

**CHAPTER 12**

Oh great. Not this guy again. But hey, at least that means he wasn't creamed by those Darkwolf dudes. You frown for moment, but then force your lips to tilt upwards. It's cool. This guy saved your sorry butt, after all. Hopefully he's not mad or anything.

Sir Baumbard's rich voice rings out from somewhere above you. "Hail Sir Pent! My party seeks passage to Falconreach."

While they talk it out in increasingly older English, you strain your eyes in the darkness to try to root out evidence of a fight. It's weird. The grass and path seem as pristine as ever, and from what you can see, Sir Pent's armor is equally unblemished.

Strange. Sir Baumbard faced them and got totally messed up, hence why he's on the dragon. But then again, the Dragonlord retiree fought all of them at once, while it's possible Sir Pent only had to deal with a few.

You step forward, interrupting all the _hences_ and _ye oldes_. "Hey, Sir Pent, what happened to all of the dudes who were chasing me?"

Like before, Sir Pent manages to express emotions rather clearly for being a suit of armor. This time, however, he radiates a feeling of smugness. "Those rogues were fools to face a knight of Oaklore in his own domain."

Sir Baumbard snorts before you have time to become awed. "Maiden, pay him no attention. Sir Pent simply pushed them into the gulf."

Oh. Well talk about a hope-crusher.

...

"So, two rooms, then?" You clarify, rubbing your arms outside of Serenity's Inn. "One for me and Samael, and one for you." Falconreach is really big. Since you've never hung around the magical side of town, you're not really sure how things work around here. But, predictably, this was the place Sir Baumbard wanted to stay for the night. He calls the shots for now because he's injured; if it were up to you, the group would be kicking it on the west side in a hotel somewhere.

But no. It's cobblestones and thatched roofs for all. Though, when you think about it, any normal hotel probably wouldn't let you guys in, especially if they saw Samael. Plups, people who wear armor (*cough*Sir Baumbard*cough*) have a habit of bringing pet monsters with them into the hotel. And monsters have a habit of screwing with the electricity and indoor plumbing. While this isn't a problem if they're kept in the inventory, some people are idiots.

Sir Baumbard, wrapped in bandages, looks outraged. "Absolutely not! The boy will bed with me tonight."

Jeez, he can sure be a prude sometimes. You're about to go along with it until Samael tightens his grip, claws digging into your tender hand flesh. Ouch. "Look dude, Samael is my responsibility. I'm going to be the one to look after him. Plus, he's only a kid, and plus, he doesn't really like you."

Harsh words, but screw it. You're freaking tired, okay?

Sir Baumbard's eyes are steely. "You know nothing about dragons or their young. I am simply looking out for your well-being."

What the heck is that supposed to mean!? Your irritation creeps a little closer to your brain than you originally intended. You roll your eyes and turn on heel, opening the door to the inn. "It's only for one night! We'll talk about it tomorrow!"

Behind you, the knight makes a sort of choking sound. "Lita! No, you don't understand-"

You wave a hand over your shoulder. "I understand plenty. You already ordered the rooms, right? We'll be the nearest one. Get well soon!"

Ignoring a disgustingly cheerful blonde chick at the counter, you claim your key with a few words and a well-placed glare. Jeez. The bags under your eyes must have bags under them as well.

Stairs stairs stairs, whoops don't fall, stairs stairs hallway door door door _door with your number hell yes_. Combat boot door kick! Ouch. Damn, okay. Insert key, jiggle it around for a bit before remembering you actually have to turn it, _then_ combat boot door kick!

Oh yes. So cool.

Okay. Place check. No monsters? No monsters. No Darkwolf whatever-the-fucks? No Darkwolf whatever-the-fucks. Looks nice. Smells nice. Clean wooden floors, a dresser, a wardrobe, and _oh Lore_ is that a white fluffy bed?

You hook your arm around Samael's waist. Heheheh, why is he looking at you funny? Oh well. Funnnnnn tosssssss~! A Samael goes flying across the room, and lands with a _whuff_ on top of the blankets. Silly dragon.

You want to join him, but agh, these heavy clunky things on your feet won't come off for some reason. No matter how much you tugtugtug... tugtug... tug... Fuck it. You yank your t-shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere to your left. You have an undershirt, Samael can deal.

You stumble around a bit before remembering where exactly you're headed. Oh yeah. Bed. You're calves hit the edge of the wooden frame, and you go ahead and flop onto the quishy fluffy cloud heaven.

The world blacks out almost immediately.

Agh, but wait, not... AGH! Jeez, why is it so freaking _hot_? You twist and squirm under the covers, but it's not too soon until you bump into something solid. Damn, small bed. But seriously, you're going to start sweating if you can't get these things off of you! You flip over, but your head thunks into a wall or something. Agh. Doesn't hurt, but talk about annoying. It's probably the universe trying to tell you to get your lazy bum out of bed.

Jeez, fine. It's not like you like sleep or anything. You reluctantly peel your eyes open, preparing yourself for an onslaught of light.

Cue jarring shock number four. Well. Maybe that wasn't a wall you bumped into, after all.

A pair of liquid gold eyes are mere _inches_ from your own. There is a person lying in bed with you. WHELP. YOU'D BE FREAKING THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW IF NOT FOR THE FACT THAT it's obviously Samael.

Your noses are nearly brushing, and your arms are tucked in between the two of you, your hand wayyyy too close to his chin. His... angular... chin... What. The _fuck_?


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Panic level is increasing. Panic level is _definitely_ increasing. He's still staring at you, but you're no longer sure who 'he' is anymore. Whelp. You suck in a deep breath...

...and fail to release the mother of all screams. Instead it just kind of comes out as one long wheeze, a mere tightening your vocal cords. You cough, flinging yourself off the other side of the bed in a sort of hybrid suicidal jump and a_ fuck this shit, I'm out_. A task not easily accomplished, considering your legs are tangled up with the stranger's. As a result, your torso flops to the floor while the other half of your body remains trapped in the fluffy cloud of death.

GAH FUCK YOU LANDED ON YOUR SHOULDERS NOW YOU CAN'T FREAKING MOVE! You flail around for a little, scrambling to find leverage to pull yourself up, but from sprawled your position it seems to be physically impossible. In a stroke of frantic genius, you flip over, easily slithering out of your entrapment and slipping onto the floor.

You take advantage of the dresser to scrabble to your feet while simultaneously crawling the fuck away. The guy/man/boy/thing/creature doesn't seem too offended by your alarm, however. He just kind of sits up, watching you with suspiciously innocent-looking wide eyes and head crooked at an angle.

You swallow, hands fumbling behind you for some kind of weapon. Hopefully his level isn't higher than level zero (who are you kidding you're so totally screwed if he attacks you).

"Wh-who the flip are you!?" You demand, voice shaking a little more than you would like. Normally you have a policy to not let freakos psyche you out, simply because thugs are always keeping watch on possible weaknesses . This dude just caught you off guard, is all.

His eyes bore into your own. And slowly, _slowly_ a low rumble begins to reverberate from the bed. Earthquake? No... Dragonspeak. Obviously. Duh. You're stupid for not realizing it sooner.

Your mouth drops open. "S-Samael...?"

No way. No _freaking_ way! Samael is tiny, and adorable, and sulky! This dude/person/imposter guy looks... mature. Ugh. But, now that you're actually paying attention, he _does_ look hell of a lot like the dragonling.

Fluffy, almost featherlike black hair... yellow eyes... pale skin... Well. But, Samael's horns were... a _lot_ smaller. No longer tiny nubs, the bone curves in an almost rotary fashion outward and towards his forehead in a horizontal semi circle. You probably didn't notice them earlier because not only are they almost as black as his hair, and they just sort of... fit.

You swallow. Ahhh... uh, is it hot in here or is it just you? Heheheh, h-how did this even happen, anyways!? You execute a full-body shudder, glancing back over towards... Samael. Still staring.

Okay, yeah. Time to go demand some answers from mister Dragon Lord retiree. You throw down your defensive hairbrush, and it spins off the dresser and falls to the floor with a clatter.

Gosh, you're so freaking stupid. He probably knew this was going to happen. He tried to warn you, but _nooooo_. You were too damn prideful to listen. Well, it probably also had something to do with being impossibly tired, but still. _Still_.

You begin marching towards the door, but a hand from behind flashes out and clasps yours. Clawtips lightly brush against your skin. Bet you can guess who it is. Agh. At this point your eyes are probably huge. You cease your walking.

Holy crap. What the frick frack is he _doing_? Refusing to look at him, you begin to tug a little at your clasped hands. "Oh? Hey, uh, Samael... Could you let me go, please?" You try to keep your shaky voice as even as possible.

Another rumble. This one's softer, though, and travels between your connected palms. Samael steps closer, into your range of sight. You actually have to _look up _to see them, but his eyes are still fixated on you. Except this time it's less of a wide-eyed _'lol wat?_', and more of a _'bitch you'd better not be planning on leaving me here alone'_ glare. Nothing sexual or suspicious. Just same old, people-unfriendly Samael.

You snort. Even if he has an older body, Samael is still a baby. You tighten your fingers around his, and suddenly recall how just last night it was _your_ hand dwarfing the dragonling's. Now it's the other way around.

...

You intended to find Sir Baumbard's room and get things over with quickly, but become significantly hindered by Samael's shuffle-shuffle-freeze pattern that ends and restarts every time someone walks by. Agh. Getting around was so much easier when you could just carry him.

Then again, it's made pretty obvious early on that you have no idea where Sir Baumbard's room is. You groan. Great. Now you're going to have drag Samael downstairs where all the people are. Just _perfect_. You glare at the stairs beneath your feet.

You begin cautiously. "Samael... we're going to have to go downstairs to find Sir Baumbard."

Next to you, the dragon boy stiffens, then slumps, shoulder bumping into yours. Jeez. Is he really that freaked out?

"Well... we should probably get ready in the room first." You offer. "That way we can just leave after eating."

He immediately perks up.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

"Now _you_-" You chuck a pillow at Samael's head. He, of course, dodges by simply tilting to the side at the last second. The pillow lands harmlessly on the wall behind him."Don't watch me while I change. Go find something else to stare at."

Samael lets out a faint growl/rumble, shooting you a dirty look. _'Why the fuck would I want to see your disgustingly naked human body?'_ You don't know why you always imagine him to be cursing, though it probably has something to do with how Sir Baumbard freaked out over whatever bad thing he said earlier.

Nevertheless, you keep a weary eye on Samael as he scoops up the discarded pillow, gives you yet _another_ dirty look, tucks it against his chest, and... crawls into the wardrobe. Now it's your turn to stare. What the heck? Is he joking, or what's he trying to- The solid oaken door slams shut. Well. It seems he's kept his bad temper, at least.

Agitated, you launch another pillow, and it thumps against the wardrobe before falling to the floor. "Don't be such a baby. You'd be naked, too, if you didn't pick up those clothes from somewhere!" Weird clothes, too. Like him, they weirdly resemble the box he came from, and pattered and cut like the Dragon Lord armor... but without the armor part. Alternating solids and netting. Most likely from Sir Baumbard. He seems responsible for most things lately.

You unlace your boots, (did you seriously sleep while wearing them?) and trade out your muddy jeans for cargo pants. Damn. You should've had the jeans washed last night; you only have one more pair of pants, and who knows when you'll have the opportunity to clean them?

Ah hell. You have a dragon dude in your wardrobe. Why the flip are you worrying about _clothes_? You were excepting of it earlier, due to the situation, but now that you have some time to think about it... This might actually have some serious ramifications on the nature of your quest/mission. How are you supposed to take responsibility for a guy physically appears to be your age? It doesn't make sense.

Well, then again, this might make your job easier. Hell, it's probably a good thing. Maybe now that he's bigger and can actually defend himself, Samael won't come crying to you for every little thing.

You take a glance out the window. The sky is a clear, opulent blue. It looks like it'll be hot today, so you discard your used undershirt and replace it with just a tank top. Psh, your bra can last awhile longer. On the other hand, the jeans are splattered in forest gunk, and are non-salvagable at the moment. Sigh.

After stealthily... borrowing... the inn's pens, you throw your satchel over your shoulder, lace up your boots, and rap on the wardrobe's door with your knuckles. Huh. No response. You try knocking a little louder. "Hey dude, let's go, get out of there."

Disgruntled growling/rumbling, and the door flies open, nearly smacking you in the face. Samael saunters out, and along the bottom of the wardrobe you can see what's left of the pillow torn to shreds. Ugh. Dragons.

Before you have time to reprimand him, Samael gives you a cold stare, and intertwines his fingers with yours, his angry dragonspeak lowering by a few notches.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you don't like interacting with people." You mumble absent-mindedly, ignoring his tendency to crowd into your personal space. Maybe your real job is to act as a human security blanket. Seems pretty likely at this point.

As the two of you start to walk down the stairs, wooden planks creaking, Samael gradually shifts closer to you until your arms are pretty much squished together. While it's quiet in the lobby, across the inn you can hear the sounds of clinking and laughter, accompanied by the drifting and steaming aroma of _breakfast foods_.

Agh. Your stomach is so empty it hurts. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. Hunger fueling your steps, you pick up the pace, dragging the much less enthusiastic Samael in your wake. He wants to hold your hand? Fine. But _nobody_ is going to keep you from the free breakfast.

You spot Sir Baumbard almost immediately. He's still bandaged here and there, but the old guy seems to be doing better, especially if he made it down the stairs on his own. You grin, and wave your free hand up in air. Damn. He doesn't seem to notice you, but oh well.

You move to go forward, but behind you your hand is snagged in an iron grip. Turning around, Samael is the picture-perfect example of a deer in frozen before headlights. His pupils are dialated, and while he's not squeezing your hand to ribbons (yet), you're certainly not going anywhere until you can snap him out of it. Oh jeez.

Sighing, you back up a few steps so the two of you align once more. You knock your shoulder into his. "Hey man, it's cool." You whisper, giving his fingers a slight squeeze. "Look over there; Sir Baumbard saved us a table in the back. Once we sit down you won't have to deal with people. We just need to make it over there, okay?"

Samael doesn't respond, his face white. Crappers. Has he gone catatonic or something? Wait. No, he's nodding. Good. You smile, tugging at his hand. "Let's go now."

The two of you begin to make your way towards the old man. There aren't too many tables, but there's a surprising number of people around. Serenity's Inn is more popular than you anticipated. But despite that, you skirt around the edge of the room and make it to the saved spot all right.

Sir Baumbard's eyes light up.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

You slide two chairs out, plopping into the nearest one with a groan. Beside you, Samael steps lightly into his, shoulders hunched, and eyes the dining room warily.

Ah, but Samael can deal. With your nose and eyes filled with food and people, you don't think you could be any happier. Well, actually you could be a _lot_ happier if you could get some of that food into your mouth. That'd be really nice.

Sir Baumbard just has to go and ruin everything, though. "Why Lita," He starts. "Do mine eyes deceive me, or is there something different about our companion here?"

You flinch, hand only inches away from the tray of food already set on the table. "I was _wondering_ about that, actually." You keep your tone mild. Better safe than sorry.

It only takes one glance towards Samael to decide he's in no state to start learning human etiquette, so you accept two plates from Sir Baumbard and begin selecting food for the both of you. Poor guy looks like he's going to attack the next person who comes near him. So, naturally, you prod his leg with your boot. Samael jerks up, eyes wild for a moment, before seemingly recognizing you. Ahahaha, even in a grown up body, he's still pretty cute.

Sir Baumbard smirks smugly under his Viking beard. "As you now know, dragon infants born with a human form only keep their young bodies for less than a day. Since they're already at a physical disadvantage, they've evolved to shorten that period of weakness as much as possible." Before you can respond, his eyes widen, and he snatches a piece of bread off of Samael's plate. "Oops, take that out. Give him more meat. He'll be able to eat human food eventually, but for now Samael should go easy on the food variety."

You roll your eyes. Sir Baumbard is such a mother hen, but why didn't he tell you about Samael earlier? Seriously. You were coddling and cuddling him to pieces for almost an entire day; it would've been nice to have _some_ kind of warning in advance. It's no wonder the dragon-boy doesn't know the meaning of personal space. But Samael isn't stupid. Anyone would get offended if a conversation about them happened right in front of their faces. You'll have wait to confront Sir Baumbard until next time you get the chance.

Shoving the plate of food towards Samael, you direct the entirety of your attention towards your own nutrients. You've really piled it on this time. All of the typical stuff; bread (the soft kind that comes in rolls), steaming ham, crunchy bacon, cheesy scrambled eggs. You arrange them on the bread to make a sort of breakfast sandwich. Agh. It-It's steaming and melting so deliciously and holy Lore this is gonna be sooooooo damn_ good_.

But then an urgent tug at your sleeve knocks you out of your food-fueled fantasies and into reality. You twitch, sucking in a breath to regain your composure before turning to face Samael.

His gold eyes bore into your own, before slowly drifting down to his earthenware plate, and then back to you. Confused.

Your breath catches in your throat. Holy crap. It's never occurred to you before, but... Samael hasn't eaten anything. Ever. He, he just doesn't _know_. How could he? He may look and act old, but he was literally born just yesterday. This dragonling doesn't know jack.

The sides of your lips twitch upwards, and you exhale softly. "Need some help?" You ask, scooting your chair closer to Samael's. There is no hesitation when he immediately nodnodnods.

"Normally you'd cut stuff with these-" You wave a dismissive hand towards his silverwear. "-but it's fine if you just eat it with your hands for now." Ehehehe, one step at a time. Don't want to overwhelm the guy.

You snap off a piece of the bacon, and pop it cleanly into your mouth. Agh. Bacon. Too tasty. Chewing quickly, you swallow, and add, "See? It's good. Now you try."

Samael shudders, flexes his fingers, and hesitantly selects a single strip of bacon, practically _placing_ it onto his tongue. Your eyebrows raise. Damn. Dude's got some sharp teeth. But then Samael closes his mouth, blocking your view.

You grin, nodding enthusiastically. "Now you chew... good... Now swallow."

And so Samael finishes eating his first bit of food with the bobbing of his Adam's apple. His eyebrows shoot up, mouth falling open in surprise. The dragonspeak is so powerful the table vibrates slightly. Sir Baumbard chuckles. "The lad likes it!"

Awesome! Of course he does. It's _bacon_, for Pete's sake. You're about to celebrate, but then Samael's mouth snaps shut, his forehead creases, and he snarls, glaring daggers at Sir Baumbard.

Which of course makes the Dragonlord only laugh harder. "Still got a temper, have we? And a foul mouth indeed..." Que more chuckling.

Ugh. Why does the old man have to harass Samael all the time? Rolling your eyes, you reach across the table, and give Sir Baumbard's arm a good thwack. His laughter cuts short, and he gasps... only to continue even louder than before.

Stupid old man. How insufferable. You bump shoulders with Samael, shaking your head. "Ignore him. Let's just eat. But make sure you don't scarf it down too quickly. You'll make yourself sick."

At your words, Samael's expression reluctantly shifts from hostile to its usual calm placidity. His eyebrows remain creased though, so you can tell he's still sulking. But it's not like there's much you can do about it.

After Sir Baumbard (finally) shuts up, the table falls under a casual silence, broken by chewing and clinking and sipping sounds. In the background, people are laughing and talking, but it's all too easy to ignore them.

Surprisingly, when you're done, the blonde innkeeper herself comes to take your plates away. Before any of you can say anything, she smiles serenely. When she speaks, her voice is warm, quiet, and hospitable.

"Sir Baumbard... there is a problem with your dragon."

The Dragonlord retiree sits up immediately, his grey eyes flying open.. "Is Glumbert okay?"

Serenity hesitates before answering. "I-I'm sorry... I don't know. Ash only told me there was a problem out past the gates."

The old (middle-aged) man frowns, brow creasing. "You two will have to go supply shopping without me... I need to go help Glumbert." He stands up, chair protesting against the inn's floors. As Sir Baumbard hurries away, however, you can barely hear him mumbling something under his breath. "Strange... normally I'd know if anything was to happen..."


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"Samael... you should probably stay here. There's too many people on the modern side of town."

Standing in the entryway to Serenity's Inn, Samael is huddled next to you, grumbling darkly. You can pretty much already guess what he's saying. _'There's already too many people on_ this_ side of town.'_

You snort. "You'll be fine! Just hang out here and don't kill anybody, kay?"

When he dragonspeaks it's less of a rumble and more a warning growl. His eyes are pleading when he winds his fingers around yours. _'Take me with you!'_

Ignoring his invasion of your personal space (jeez you shouldn't let him get away with it all the time he'll think it's okay or something) you place your free hand on your hip. Should you really bring him along with you? You seriously feel like he might start crying once he sees how many people can fit inside a super market. But then again... -you glance up at his liquidy golden eyes- ...the water works will probably begin before you even leave, at this rate.

Oh well. Too bad for him. You know how this town works, outside of the "magical" zone. You don't need some guy with horns and a freaky costume following you around in the grocery store. You don't need some guy with horns and freaky costume starting a _scene_ in the grocery store. You shrug. "Sorry dude. It'd be too much trouble lugging you all over the place. Later."

But before you can even turn around, however, a sharp jerk on your arm nearly dislocates your elbow and sends you stumbling forward towards Samael. One hand keeping yours captive, he makes his statement very clear. _'If I can't go, you can't go either.'_

You roll your eyes. "No need to yank my arm out of its socket, jeez. Do you really hate being near people that much?

Samael looks away and frowns, the little upside-down 'v' returning. Before you have time to think about how cute it is, his expression clears, and he simply shrugs. You stare at him searchingly for a bit before sighing and dropping your gaze.

Well, it's not like you expected him to explain himself or anything. You've just been imagining what he might be saying based on body language. He could actually be meaning to say something completely different and you'd never know. Though, if you were a Dragonlord, you wouldn't have to worry about that, huh?

Except you know, that little problem with acquiring a Dragon Amulet. Don't even know how that could even be accomplished, in the event you'd ever actually want one.

Ugh. Whatever, it's best not to think too hard on these sort of things. Your job is to deliver him to Dragon Hold, or whatever the city is called. Dragon Amulet? Ridiculous. That'd be totally counter-productive to the mission. Lady Celestia offered you the opportunity at the start of this whole thing. You refused. End of story.

But... You swallow. If you're going to have to get rid of him soon anyways... might as well make the time you have together worth it. Why not try to have as much fun as possible?

"Fine." You huff, throwing up your free hand in submission. "You win. But you're gonna have to listen to me, all right? First things first; let's go find a jacket or something to cover those horns up."

...

Ahah. You love the 99 cent store. Of course, the merchandise isn't _actually_ 99 cents, but everything _is_ really freaking cheap. Though you're totally loaded (in terms of what you're used to) thanks to the funds from Lady Celestia, old habits die hard. Just because you finally have some cash, doesn't mean you're going to go spending it around willy-nilly. Freaking wasteful.

But you wish Sir Baumbard could be here to help you pick things out. You're not really sure what you should be looking for; camping items, or weapons? Armor, or food? Agh. Though your weapons knowledge is passable, you don't know jack about armor. Only the general rule that the bigger and heavier it is, the less likely you're going to receive damage. Supposedly. Sometimes stuff turns out to be junk at the last possible second.

In any case, the first thing you got for Samael was a plain grey hoodie. Sure it's not too pretty and makes him look really suspicious, but it was the first cheap article of clothing you found that had a hood and didn't come from a trash can.

Speaking of Samael, he's been doing pretty good so far. When cobblestones transformed to pavement and thatch into tile and concrete, you were almost sure he was going to start freaking out. Some shit like 'argh, my sensitive nose is bleeding' or 'hoooooly shit wtf is this crap'. Or maybe even the classic 'hey, im a magical creature this technology's killing me'.

But there's been nothing of the sort. Just, you know, squeezing the shit outta your hand.

"S-Samael..." You whisper, looking around and migrating the two of you to the nearest corner. "Hey man, you don't have to hold on so tightly."

He slowly turns towards you. Eyes simultaneously wide and very, very serious. _'Yes. Yes I do.'_

Ahah. Sure, drama queen.

Perhaps this is something you just have to deal with. You don't get the feeling Samael's latching onto you because he particularly _likes_ you; it's as if he doesn't like _anyone_ and you happen to be the one he dislikes the least. A human support system, if you will.

After collecting your items (you ended up going with whatever seemed most useful), you drag Samael across the battered white tiles and painted steel shelves towards one of the three cash registers. Obviously you weren't going to choose a massive super store for exposing Samael to the public. You have a theory that if you keep on forcing him around people for longer and longer periods of time, he'll eventually just get over his aversion/phobia for them. Whatever it is.

But this is likely to be the most difficult part of your outing.


End file.
